Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“Which clients want to hire the new company?” Oscar asks.
Akara looks to Jane.
She perks up. “Moffy and I are objectively positive that Charlie, Sullivan, and Luna will opt in, besides us of course.”
Donnelly frowns. “Not Beckett?”
Jane shakes her head. “I’m unsure. Charlie thinks he’s content with O’Malley at the moment.”
“He could come around, Donnelly,” Akara says, “but until then, I have new details to assign.” He massages his palm. “So here’s the deal, since all you dumb-fucks decided to join a sinking ship, there are no Omega bodyguards over at Triple Shield. SFO is here.” He points at the floor.
My lips rise.
The men are grinning. So is Jane next to me.
“Tony can’t be a lead if there’s no Force to lead.”
Oscar claps loudly, and the other two Yale boys join in the applause.
Banks messes my hair next to me, and I say, more to him, “Christmas came late, gents.”
He cracks a smile. “I’ll take that gift.”
“Tony can rat out the twin switch to the Alpha lead all he wants,” Akara says, “but Price can’t fire Thatcher and Banks if you two don’t work for him.”
I almost laugh, in shock. This was Akara’s plan to pull me out of the twelve-foot ditch. And it worked.
More applause fills the room.
“I don’t know where Price will put Tony,” Akara continues, “but I can tell you all, here, that you’re staying with your current clients. Except for you.”
He’s looking at me.
“You have Jane.”
“I, what?” I stare hard, unblinking, not registering the fact that I could be on her detail again. I’ve punished myself for so long for screwing the team—it just didn’t feel like a position I should be given.
But I want it.
I want her.
With every fiber of my being.
Jane’s hands fly to her mouth, wide-eyed and stunned. She didn’t know. Our eyes fasten together while Akara repeats, “You’re Jane’s bodyguard.”
It slams into me.
I can protect my wife.
That’s what she’ll be. My wife.
My hand slides along her cheek, her tears falling, and our foreheads drift closer. Men chat softly behind us, giving me and her a moment, and their voices fade to the background.
“Thatcher.” She inhales like we’re on an ascent.
My chest caves and expands. “Jane.”
“You’re my bodyguard.” She speaks our blissful reality into the world.
I hold her close, emotion barreling into my body. Surging and stinging my eyes, and very deeply, I say, “You’re going to be my wife. I promise you that.”
She cries into a tearful smile, and her lips find my ear—her cheek brushing against my hard jaw—and tenderly, Jane whispers, “I love you, I love you, I love you, and let me tell you how terribly and tremendously I do.”
I listen to Jane ramble quickly and slowly about her love for me, right against my ear—and I could shut my eyes and breath in. Like it’s my first breath on this earth.
I stand strong, my pulse soothed, and my hand lost in her frizzed hair. I can live inside hell, but for the first time, I’ve finally reached heaven—and I’m happy and I’m staying. I’m staying. To build a life and future and family. Right here, with Jane Eleanor Cobalt.
For forever.
49
JANE COBALT
Rather quickly, I snip off tags hooked to store-bought cat toys: new vibrant colored mice, a few feathery stuffed balls, and a cupcake and unicorn stuffed catnip set, thanks to the Meadows family.
And I steal a glance at the sexiest, sternest, and most iron-willed man my eyes have ever loved. Thatcher slices open packaging to a new litter box, our seven cats prancing curiously around him and me.
He’s careful with the knife as they nudge closer.
I smile, but then I remember where we are. Only two days have passed since the fire, and we’re all still picking up the pieces.
I turn more towards him. “Are you sure you’re okay to stay here until we all decide on a new place?” I add in haste, “And I know I’ve asked you a dozen times already, and this will be the last—I just need to be certain.”
“Yeah.” Thatcher rips open the cardboard box. “I’m good here.”
I eye him, more intrigued. He’s not even surveying his surroundings—which are very pastel blue. And frilly, and I suppose not entirely different to my room in the townhouse.
Except for the sheer opulence.
A diamond chandelier hangs over a four-poster princess-like bed. Set in the very center, the bed presides over a rosé-hued vanity, a hand-crafted wardrobe from Florence, shelves of jeweled Parisian trinkets—and not to forget the boas and outlandish costumes strewn over a dressing curtain, which costs more than his salary.
I am obnoxiously wealthy.
I have been this entire time. But now, he’s immersed in this luxury while he’s staying in my teenage bedroom with me. Right where I grew up.
The Cobalt Estate is our temporary home for the time being.
Neither of us envisioned living with my parents and my youngest brother and sister—but Thatcher agreed it’s safer to “post-up” in the gated neighborhood until we find a permanent place.